Watch Me Break
by Stahlfan125
Summary: Boone thinks he deserves the pain he gives himself, but Shannon knows he doesnt. Oneshot Shoone.


_No _clue where this came from. Just some random idea I've always had. I don't know why, but Boone always seemed like he'd be suicidal to me. :(

Please review

_So go on love  
Leave while there's still hope for escape  
Got to take what you can these days  
There's so much ahead  
So much regret  
I know what you want to say  
(Know what you want to say)  
I know it but can't help feeling differently  
I loved you, and I should have said it  
But tell me just what has it ever meant_

_I can't help it baby, this is who I am (am)  
Sorry, but I can't just go turn off how I feel (feel)  
You kill me, you build me up, but just to **watch me break** (hey hey, hey hey)  
I know what I should do, but I just can't walk away_

**Jimmy Eat World  
Kill

* * *

**

**Watch Me Break**

The first time Shannon saw what he did to himself was when she was sixteen. She was young, then, and sheltered. She happened to see the angry red line on the underside of his wrist as she was trying to grab his hand during one of their many fights, to prevent him from leaving, and stared at it for a moment, not sure what it was and what it meant, but knowing that it was something she should be scared of.

"How'd you do that?" she asked quietly, thinking that he had accidentally scraped it. Boone, not understanding that she didn't know what he had done, had quickly left the room without a word. Shannon had stood in the doorway, listening as he stormed to his room across the hall and slammed the door. And then she listened to him cry.

She knew, then, that he was hiding something from her. She knew that he was trying to keep that cut on his wrist a secret. She just didn't know why.

* * *

A few days later, she started noticing that he was wearing long sleeves a lot more often, and had taken to wearing black wristbands over his wrists on the occasions when it was too hot to wear anything more than a t-shirt. No one other than she seemed to notice. She spent a while wondering exactly why that was before she decided that maybe Sabrina and her father just didn't _want _to notice.

So she did something that she had never done before in her life, and she abhorred even considering it. She went to the school's guidance counselor.

* * *

"Shannon Rutherford," the young counselor said, smiling at Shannon sweetly. "I don't believe you've ever come to talk to me before."

"No, I haven't," Shannon said, trying her best to sound at least mildly polite. She needed the woman's help; she didn't want to antagonize her. Not yet, anyway. "I never…had reason to."

Of course, that was utter bullshit. Shannon had always needed a therapist and everyone knew it. Though maybe young Ms. Taylor sitting in front of her didn't know it. Shannon felt a little better knowing that this woman knew nothing about she and Boone, or any of their fucked up family problems; not the least of which was this mysterious new development. Shannon was aware that she could have just asked one of her friends what the cut on his wrist was all about, but her friends were just as bad at keeping secrets as she was. The whole school would have known before the week was out, and Shannon wanted to know exactly what was wrong with her step-brother before she went about humiliating him. She had at least that much human kindness in her. Though that was about as far as it extended.

"Why did you come to speak with me today?" Ms. Taylor asked.

"Well…" Shannon began, then she stopped and bit her lip. "Ms. Taylor, you won't tell anyone what I say, right? No one at all?"

"Of course, I won't tell anyone," Ms. Taylor said kindly. "And please, call me Cheryl."

"Okay, Cheryl," Shannon said slowly, as if steeling herself for what she was about to say. "Last Wednesday me and my step-brother were fighting…"

"Your step-brother? Boone?" Cheryl asked with a small smile. Shannon had to force down a small smile as well. Boone was well known around the school for his charm and good looks. Though usually it annoyed the shit out of her, this incident amused her. It seemed that Ms. Taylor wasn't immune to the senior boy's flirtatious advances that he had used to get Shannon switched into an easier level math class halfway through the year so she wouldn't fail.

"Yeah," Shannon said slowly. "Boone. We were fighting, and I grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away, because, you know, he was trying to be the better person and walk off or whatever before we started hitting each other or…I don't know, whatever. The point is that I grabbed his wrist and he kind of winced, like it hurt, and I happened to look down and saw that he had this cut on his wrist. Right here." Shannon indicated with her finger, drawing a figurative line across her wrist, symbolizing the action unknowingly.

"Are you sure?" Cheryl asked, looking frightened.

"Yeah," Shannon replied slowly. "I don't know what it means, but it seemed weird to me."

"Shannon…" Cheryl began, looking confused. "You can't tell me you don't know what a cut wrist means?"

When Shannon replied that no, she didn't know what a cut wrist meant, Cheryl leaned forward in her chair and very calmly, rationally, explained it. And Shannon listened with ever-growing horror, her hand over her mouth and her cheeks burning red with fear.

* * *

"Boone!"

Shannon burst into the house after school that day, throwing her purse on the couch, not caring that it nearly knocked over a very expensive-looking vase on the way. Boone looked up from where he was sitting at the center island, looking over his homework studiously. It was one of those hot days, so he was wearing a black t-shirt with the black wristbands over his wrists.

"What's wrong, Shan?" he asked, putting down his pencil and hopping off the barstool. Shannon just marched right towards him and grabbed his arm, ripping the wristband off with tears already filling her eyes. Fuck, she had promised herself that she wouldn't cry.

"What the fuck is this?" she screamed at him, as he stared at her, absolutely horrified, pulling his scarred wrist to his chest protectively.

"Jesus, Shan," he yelled, though he didn't know what else to say after that.

"Don't 'Jesus, Shan' me!" she shouted back, slamming her hand down on the counter so hard that the glasses in the cabinets rattled. "All this time, you've been doing this to yourself! You…you…" she broke off, suddenly sobbing uncontrollably. Boone stared at her for a moment before pulling her into a tight hug.

"Christ, Shannon," he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. "I didn't know…"

"Didn't know what, huh? Didn't know that I knew?" Shannon asked, pulling away reluctantly and wiping her eyes. "Fuck, Boone…why would you…why did you do that?"

She took a step towards him and gently pulled his wrist away from his chest, wincing at the sight of the angry red scar there. Boone mumbled something that she didn't catch, but when she looked at him with confusion, he repeated it a little louder.

"Because I liked the pain," he whispered. "I deserved it."

Hearing Boone say that he deserved anything other than reverence and happiness and love was a shock to Shannon. Not that he had ever bragged to her, of course, or to anyone. No, he was too modest for that. Shannon had just always thought that it was his opinion that he deserved great things. Learning that exactly the opposite was true was certainly a shock to her system.

"You think you deserve that?" she asked, closing her eyes and drawing a shuddering breath as she tried to understand what he was saying. "You think you deserve pain? Why?"

Boone shrugged, and Shannon knew that he had his reasons. He just didn't want to tell her. So she held him, just like he held her whenever she cried, and she stroked his hair and told him that he was special and amazing and beautiful just like he always did. And on that day, Shannon realized that she liked being needed.

* * *

When she was eighteen, she moved out. She was planning on going to live in France for a year, but first wanted to stop by Boone's apartment to say goodbye. She knew he would want it, and knew that she wanted it too. She also wanted to make sure he was okay.

She knew that he hadn't stopped hurting himself. No matter how many times she asked him to stop, the next time she saw him, there were more scars and bigger cuts. Sometimes she wondered how he was still alive.

She walked up to his door and knocked loudly, yawning and stretching tiredly, glancing at her watch. She had five hours before the plane took off, and a shit-load to do. Where the hell was he?

She knocked again, glancing out the window that she stood next to in the hall. His car was right there, so he was obviously in. She sighed and waited a few seconds before knocking once more, this time much louder. She figured he had his headphones on or something.

Suddenly, she was seized with fear. Though she tried to convince herself that absolutely nothing was wrong, she couldn't help but wonder.

"Boone?" she called out, knocking again. When he didn't answer, she tried twisting the doorknob. It was locked. "Dammit, Boone!" she yelled, slamming her palm against the door furiously. "Open up!"

Still no answer. She glanced around for a moment before sighing and walking out the front door. Boone's apartment was luckily on the first floor, and there was a window leading into it. Though Shannon had once considered herself above climbing through windows, she also knew when a moment called for abandonment of dignity.

She peered into the room, but couldn't see anything. The table in the middle of the room was covered in books and papers; obviously he had been studying. The kitchen was spotlessly clean, typically, and the bathroom door was open a crack, light spilling out. There certainly didn't seem to be anyone in there, but Shannon's eyes were drawn to that crack of light from the bathroom door. Boone would not have left the light on if he were going out. Nor would he have left the bathroom door open if he were going to the bathroom.

She almost turned around and headed back to her car, convinced that she was completely overreacting, but she couldn't ignore that feeling. She knew that it would bug her for the rest of the day if she didn't go in there, so she threw open the window, finding it mercifully unlocked, and hoisted herself up there, cursing herself for wearing a skirt that day.

After she had tumbled sideways in through the window, slammed her elbow into the heater, and cursed enough to make Sabrina blush, she managed to get to her feet and asses the situation. Boone was definitely not in the main room, and a quick glance into the bedroom revealed that that was empty as well. The bed was unmade. That only added to Shannon's apprehension.

She charged towards the bathroom door, nearly tripping in her haste, and pushed the door open. When she saw what waited for her, she screamed, nearly falling over in her surprise in horror.

"Oh, fuck!" she shouted, tears already shooting down her face.

Boone sat against the wall, his head resting forward on his chest. His legs were spread out haphazardly, as if he hadn't really cared about comfort, and his arms were limply resting on them, his wrists cut open and the blood from them splashed all over the tiles and the sink.

"No!" she screamed, diving to her knees beside his still form, pulling him into her lap. "No, fuck, no, Boone!"

She frantically tried to feel for a pulse, but had no idea what do to, so she jumped up and ran to front door of his apartment, throwing it open and running down the hall to the front desk.

The girl there stared at her with eyes wide. Shannon didn't look down to see the blood that would inevitably be splattered across her shirt.

"Please," she sobbed, coming to a rest with her hands on the desk. "My step-brother, he's in there. He's hurt. You've got to call an ambulance."

"I will," the girl said, picking up the phone immediately and looking horrified. Shannon wondered dimly if she had a little thing for Boone before realizing that it was the worst possible time to be contemplating his love life. She turned and ran back down the hallway to his open door.

She practically sprinted to the bathroom, falling to her knees once again and pulling Boone to her chest, sobbing brokenly. The hot tears cascaded down her face, and she kissed his forehead, pressing it to her lips painfully and holding it there as she heaved with silent wails.

"Please, please, Boone," she cried. "Oh, fuck, Boone!"

"Shan?"

His weak voice reached her ears, and she looked down at him, an intense feeling of relief washing over her.

"Oh my God," she sobbed, grabbing a whole fistful of toilet paper. "Oh my God, you're alive."

She shoved the toilet paper onto his open wound and he whimpered in pain. He was so pale, and he sounded so weak, that she started crying anew.

"Shan," he whispered again, his glazed eyes finding hers. She grabbed another wad of toilet paper for the other wrist, while the first wad had quickly become completely saturated with blood.

"Fuck, Boone, why the…oh God…" Shannon grabbed a hand towel that was hanging from the sink and pressed that to his wrist instead, not caring that she was getting blood all over her. "Oh fuck, don't do this to me."

"'M sorry," Boone whispered, his head lolling in her lap.

"Fuck, don't apologize," Shannon screamed at him, not caring that she probably wasn't giving him much incentive to pull through. "You didn't do fucking anything wrong! Okay?"

He just stared at her woozily, probably not understanding a word. She moved the towel to his other wrist, though it was already half-soaked with blood. She heard the ambulances moving towards them and willed them to move faster.

"Don't…" Boone began, but he didn't manage to get it out. Shannon froze, watching as his eyes slid closed.

"No!" she screamed, and his eyes jerked back open. "Fucking…stay with me, Boone! Okay, just listen to my voice."

"Don't…" Boone started again, letting out a weak little whimper. "Don't leave."

Shannon felt her heart shattering into pieces as she heard that.

"I won't leave," she whispered to him. "I promise, Boone. I won't leave."

She stared down at him as she heard the paramedics rushing her way. She gazed sadly down at his wrists and realized with a jolt that the scars were running the opposite way. They were traveling down his wrists.

* * *

He had wanted to die.

Three hours later, Shannon finally left the hospital. Boone still hadn't awoken, but he was going to be okay, and she had a plane to catch. It was only halfway across the Atlantic Ocean that Shannon realized that he hadn't just wanted her to stay with him in that bathroom…he had wanted her to stay with him, in the States. He hadn't wanted her to go to Paris.

And for an entire year, she wondered if that was why he did it.

* * *

Shannon found out why he tried to kill himself only when she stood in front of him in Sydney, Australia, watching his broken heart reflected in his eyes as Brian told him that she had conned him out of his money. And when he had left, casting her that one look back in her direction, she knew that he was going to hurt himself again, and he was going to tell himself that he deserved what she had done to him. He deserved it because he loved her.

She knew that was the reason. She knew that that was why he had continued to hurt himself even after she begged him to stop. She knew that was why she had found him lying on his apartment floor when she was eighteen, with the cuts in his wrist running a different way. She knew the reason he had tried to end his life that day was because of the guilt he felt because he was in love with her, and the pain that came with her not loving him back.

She carried her guilt with her to the bar that night, after Brian had taken off with the money, and had drank far more than she should have. But the drinks hadn't helped like they usually did. They just made her think about Boone more. About how he had been lying on his floor that day, about how cold he had been. The more she thought about him, the more she wanted to see him. She wanted to kiss him and hold him and make him feel better. She wanted him to need her.

So she stumbled to his hotel room, barely managing to find the right room. When she had finally got there, she had been so afraid that he wouldn't let her in, but he did, and she had made him feel better. She had made him feel better than he had ever felt. And when she kissed his wrist that night, she knew that she saw love in his eyes. She felt really, truly loved for the first time in her life. But she, being Shannon Rutherford, had gone and screwed it up.

She had panicked, and pushed him away just as soon as they were done fucking. She had made it look like she didn't give a shit about him or his feelings. She made it look like she was just a cold, heartless bitch, just as she had always looked like. And yet…he still loved her.

* * *

But she had wasted that love. She had thrown it away carelessly, leaving it out to rot as she drifted away from him. After their plane crashed on that damn island, after she had spent all her days bitching at him about every little thing and never taking into consideration that he still had that sad, mournful look in his eye, after she had found Sayid and actually found herself developing feelings for him…after all that, she was still thinking about Boone twenty out of twenty-four hours of the day.

Yet she never let on. She sneered at him, spat in his face, yelled at him, hit him, and generally made a name for herself as the island's resident bitch. All the while, she knew Boone was hurting himself. She knew he was still in love with her, and she was hurting him more than he could ever hurt himself by doing what she was doing.

So why couldn't she stop? She had no idea. Maybe it was because she didn't want to accept the fact that she was wishing she could just snuggle up to him every night, and lay her head on his chest. Maybe it was because she wished that he would kiss her again like he did that night in Sydney. Maybe it was because she was realizing that she loved him, and that scared her to death.

But she never would admit it. So she let him suffer for her pride, each day growing weaker and weaker as she tried to distract herself by spending all her time with Sayid. And at her weakest point, when Boone seemed to lose all interest in her, she gave herself completely to Sayid in a desperate attempt to make Boone jealous. But it had only pushed him away more, and she found herself wishing that she had never laid eyes on the other man. She found herself wishing that she was in Boone's arms rather than his, and that she was kissing Boone instead of Sayid. She even found herself imagining that Sayid was Boone, though that was harder to do than it seemed.

Just as she thought she couldn't take it anymore, just as she had given up and was pretending, even to herself, that she loved Sayid, she lost Boone forever. She and Sayid were just walking back from a romantic candlelit dinner, hand in hand, when Jack walked up to them and told them that Boone was dead.

And just like that, Shannon's world collapsed.

* * *

She sat in front of his body, gazing down at it with a trembling frame. She had just been crying for more than an hour, unable to quell the sobs that threatened to break her. One thing kept coming back to her; one single fact.

_She hadn't been there._

He had been dying, and she was off kissing another man; a man who she knew now that she didn't and never would love. Boone was in pain, Boone was believing that he deserved to die cold and alone, while she was warm and content.

She had never understood how she was so happy all the time and Boone was miserable. After all, he was a great guy and deserved great things. She was just a bitch. But as she stared down at his body that horrible day, she finally understood. In a weird way, Boone had given up his happiness for her. He had made her happy while hurting himself, because he believed that he was sacrificing himself for her, and there was nothing that made him happier.

Several weeks later, when Shannon was sitting at Boone's grave, and she heard the screams and shouts of the people down the beach as the Others swarmed out of the woods, she didn't move from her spot. She just watched as the Others opened fire, killing several as they tried to take off into the trees. She watched as one of them spotted her and started running over. She watched as he raised his gun and fired.

She fell over onto Boone's grave, savoring the pain just as Boone had savored his. She knew she deserved it; the pain she was feeling. She had made Boone hate himself. She had made him want to end his life. She had made him feel like he was worthless. She deserved everything that was happening to her. Like Boone, her guilt was eating her alive. But it didn't matter. She didn't have long to suffer.

* * *

With a final gunshot, her life was ended, and when she woke up from that long sleep, she saw Boone smiling down at her, and she smiled back, knowing that this was where they were meant to be all along. They needed to be here just like they had always neededto be together but had been too scared to admit. They had paid the price for their guilt. They _both _deserved what they were getting now.

Each other.


End file.
